


To Carlos, From Cecil

by precambriansupereon



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal World, Effeminate!Cecil, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-22 09:23:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/precambriansupereon/pseuds/precambriansupereon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new man came into town today. Who is he? What does he want from us? Why his perfect and beautiful haircut? Why his perfect and beautiful coat? He says he is a scientist. Well. We have all been scientists at one point or another in our lives. But why now? Why here?" -Pilot</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hate and Despair and Love That Perfect Hair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [consultingcompanion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/consultingcompanion/gifts).



“Goodnight, listeners. Goodnight.” Cecil flicked off the microphone and leaned back into his swivel chair. He’d asked for a beanbag on multiple occasions – one of the absurdly large ones his full height and twice his width – but he’d always been met with dismissal in the form of an eye roll. This radio station did not have the funds, according to the general manager. Especially not to appease one idiot with a half-hour show only necessary to fulfill Marcus Vansten’s local news requirement. Otherwise, he would move his funding to a cause more “suitable.”

Cecil jumped up and pulled his wiry arms across his body, arching his spine, cracking his neck. The clock read midnight. But then again, the clock was broken, and always read midnight. He threw his messenger bag over his shoulder and headed out, locking the glass back door behind him.

He hopped on his bicycle, a rust red clattery contraption built with authentic rust and possibly spare auto parts. Passing the only 24-hour anything in town, Cecil pulled over and tied his Rube Goldberg bicycle to a gas pump, deciding to pick up something microwaveable for a fifth meal. Cecil stopped trying to label his meals by breakfast, lunch, and dinner only two weeks after moving to Night Vale. It wasn’t worth the hassle.

The eroded chime hanging above the door noisily indicated when Cecil entered the gas station. An elderly woman greeted him with a friendly but tired nod. A nametag identified her as “Josie,” though Cecil never bothered to ask her name in his three months of buying individually packaged ravioli and minute rice. Her tattered Bible lay open on the counter to somewhere in Proverbs and she mumbled the verses quietly to herself while Cecil directed his attention to the small assortment of microwaveables. He flipped over a can of Hormel chili to find the expiration date when the chime sounded again. Another man about Cecil’s age squinted at the brighter lights of the indoors.

For a full lifetime – or a lifetime according to Cecil – the man was nothing but a means to keep the most marvelous head of hair far from the dirty ground, like a 6-foot-some-odd-inches wig stand. Cecil would later recount the hair to his cat, Khoshekh, as “being lifted from the head of a supernatural being and placed on a mortal to act on the weakness of man.” The cat had no comment, but purred in agreement.

“Is something wrong?”

Cecil jumped from his stupor and threw the can of chili excitedly over into the next aisle in an attempt to appear like he was not buying barely expired food at 12:15 in the morning. “Nothing!” Cecil yelped, trying desperately to decide if he was standing too straight or too crooked or possibly too hunched over…

“Sorry,” said the man and his perfect hair. “I thought you were staring at me. I’m new in town, still a bit uneasy,” he laughed softly to himself in that certain way that only very uncomfortable people do. He stretched his neck to see the contents of the can splattered all across the aisle of condoms and various other sexual amenities.

Cecil bounced on the tips of his toes, only now beginning to examine the rest of the man. He was dark skinned, but not in the way that reminded him of warm sweetness like the old standby descriptors of caramel or roasted coffee. (Cecil himself had often been described as “coffee and cream,” a phrase which made little sense to him. The way he saw it, that color changes drastically depending on the ratio of coffee to cream, as well as the type and strength of coffee. By that measurement, all humans were coffee and cream.) This man was dark skinned like The Thinker statue, firm and unyielding without being sharp. He wore dirt-encrusted boots and a fairly large tumbleweed attached itself firmly to the leg of his industrial strength jeans. The least Cecil could say was that this man was no better off than himself.

“Young man,” the Old Woman Josie creaked from behind the counter. “I’d love to be the Good Samaritan, but I’m too old to clean up that mess you just made.”

The man in the dirt-encrusted boots looked Cecil over for a few long seconds before muttering “I’ll help you.”

Old Woman Josie pointed out all the necessary ingredients to clean fifteen ounces of expired chili from expired three packs of flavored condoms. The pair got to work, wiping chili. “My name is Carlos. I’m with that group of scientists renting the lab behind that pizza place. The…what is it called? No one does a slice like…”

“Big Rico’s?” Cecil asked, even though he knew the answer. Everyone in Night Vale knew the answer. “No one else in town serves pizza, so he’s technically correct. I’m Cecil, a handyman, secretary, and obscure radio host.” He dipped the mop into the murky water. “Not hipster obscure. My-show-only-exists-to-get-funding-from-a-rich-dude obscure,” he corrected.

Carlos laughed and Cecil noted that it sounded like a flock of pigeons taking off as a couple skips through a park in a bad romance movie. “And all this led to you throwing chili because?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time?” Cecil cringed at the massive collapse in intelligent thought that led to him throwing the can. “I was looking for something I could microwave so I wouldn’t have to wash dishes.”

“So you picked up a metal can?”

“We’re not all as smart as you, endowed by our perfect hair with limitless intelligence.” Cecil realized he had been scrubbing the same spot, now exceedingly sparkly. The whole area, in fact, looked quite clean, as if they were done. Cecil didn’t want to be done.

“Oh shut up.” Cecil noticed a reddened color on Carlos’ cheeks and they both shut up as they put away all the cleaning supplies.

Old Woman Josie hobbled over with her Bible tucked beneath one arm. “You two boys really are the angels among us.” She smiled and sandwiched Carlos’ hand in her own. “My pastor says angels can’t be black, but you’ve proven him wrong today.” She pressed her thin lips together and nodded.

“I’m Mexican…” Carlos, clearly confused, looked to Cecil who raised his hands in a shrugging gesture.

Old Woman Josie nodded as if she understood. “Yes, of course. I’ll tell my pastor just that. What a hoot!”

She shuffled back behind the counter and Cecil grabbed his normal container of ravioli and paid for it in cash. By the time he paid, Carlos was standing outside next to a dirty black truck and looking up at the night sky, only barely visible through a thick layer of clouds. It reminded Cecil of a dress his sister bought from a Goodwill shop: a dark blue velvet number covered in rhinestones. But after two or three washes, only a few random sequins remained.

Cecil stood outside the door, watching the light from the nearby bug zapper cast faint Carlos-shaped shadows on the asphalt. “Thank you so much for helping me clean up my stupidity.” Cecil said, handing Carlos a bar of chocolate he bought alongside his ravioli.

Carlos sighed. “Could be the most interesting thing I do this week. Didn’t want to miss out.” He opened the chocolate bar and broke off the top.

“C’mon,” Cecil joked. “Night Vale is a thrilling adventure for the whole family! We even have a dog park now!”

“That no one is allowed in until the grass grows. Except that weird guy in the black hoodie that waters it every night.”

“That’s a girl…isn’t it?” Cecil tried to remember if he’d ever seen the hooded figure’s face.

“I avoid looking for too long in case they want to…talk or something.” Carlos cringed.

“Aren’t you a friendly one?” Cecil bumped Carlos’ shoulder playfully with his own. “Just wait until we get that artificial reservoir. Then we’ll be the new Vegas.” He was, of course, lying. With Las Vegas less than two hours away, no one was going to be detouring to Night Vale, Nevada.

Carlos shook his head with a grin only barely visible by the green-blue bug lamp. “It’s not as interesting as a big city, but I’ll get by.”

Cecil nodded and as he walked away, turned around and shouted back. “My radio show starts at 11:30. Listen to it tomorrow night and I’ll try to liven up this city for you.”

“Won’t you get in trouble for lying?” he asked, half joking. The bug lamp now illuminated his head from the back like an angel’s halo. Maybe Old Woman Josie had a point.

“Consider it my official greeting.” Cecil bowed. “Welcome to Night Vale.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally deleted my old end notes, but thank you to Megan and Emily, who I mention in more detail in later thank yous.


	2. Scheduling Error

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And hey, here’s a tip: take your kids out, and use the Cloud’s constantly mutating hue to teach him or her the names of colors. It’s fun, and it shows them the real-life applications of learning." - Glow Cloud

On Cecil’s ride to his secretary job every morning, he made a detour of twelve blocks. These twelve blocks allowed him to pass both Carlos’ home and his laboratory behind Big Rico’s. He always failed to actually see Carlos, but he figured he was home or working at just about any given moment.

However, this particular morning was slightly different. He received a call at 7 AM from his boss, an absurdly large man with a thick but unrecognizable accent, something between Russian and a white man pretending to be an Indian for a movie. “Cecil, there is no work today,” he said. “I’m taking a day off to celebrate the rainfall.”

And sure enough, when Cecil stepped outside there was a huge cloud covering the sun, but for a few rays breaking out from around the edges.

“Looks like rain.” He muttered to himself. He always spoke to himself, though he rarely answered. It wasn’t worth the trouble of coming up with a socially acceptable reply.

“I can’t wait to get out into the Sand Wastes!” Another voice exclaimed, causing Cecil to cock an eyebrow. Usually when he talked to himself, he didn’t hear himself externally. And moreso, Cecil never ever ever wanted to go out to the Sand Wastes.

Cecil spun around to face a delighted Carlos, grinning frenziedly. “RAIN!” He screamed, clapping his hands and jumping up and down. Had he not been a grown man more fit for science than gymnastics, Carlos would have done a complex series of backflips and cartwheels out of sheer joy.

“Yes…rain!” Cecil tried to mimic the jumping excitement but the concerned look on his face gave him away.

“Aaaaaaand I’m a scientist!” Carlos had now stopped jumping and Cecil realized that he was being clued into something.

“Cooooongratulations!” Cecil’s radio voice suddenly came in handy here and he sounded like he was about to announce their host, Alex Trebek.

Carlos sighed and slumped his shoulders before coming back up with a smirk. “It means, Cecil Baldwin, that I am going out to the Sand Wastes to study desert life during a rain storm! You should come! We can’t do these studies very often because, well, it doesn’t rain very often.”

Cecil shrugged. “Why the hell not? Just let me grab my phone.”

Less than an hour later, Cecil and Carlos sat in the back of a pickup amongst a plethora of scientific gadgetry, the clouds spitting occasional droplets at them. Carlos thoroughly explained each piece of equipment and everything it did for the scientific community, bouncing quickly from subject to subject with little to warning. Cecil understood precious few words but listened patiently.

He discovered early that Carlos behaved most wonderfully around science. He was generally pleasant, if a bit wry, but science altered him completely. He became mesmerized and enveloped in his own work – and in turn, Cecil completely fell into him, watching him work and describe. It reminded Cecil of Malayalam, a language his mother spoke beautifully, but Cecil never learned. Things he didn’t know were somehow all the more enchanting when he didn’t intend to learn them. Even more so when someone amazing knew what he did not.

Carlos patted Cecil’s arm to catch his attention and pointed at a bighorn ram staring them down about 20 yards away. “There’s probably several more close by,” Cecil whispered, delicately stepping off the truck and into the sand. “Come on.”

The rest of the flock was just around a couple of boulders. Seven little sheep, all grazing peacefully. Upon seeing Cecil and Carlos they stared for a moment before going back to their lunch.

The rest of the flock was just around a couple of boulders. Seven little sheep, all grazing peacefully. Upon seeing Cecil and Carlos, they stared for a moment before going back to their lunch.

“I’ve never seen sheep in my life.” Cecil spoke as softly as he could so as not to disturb the animals. “Where the hell did these even come from?”

Carlos swung his head around and shot a sardonic glare at Cecil. “They came from the clouds,” he teased. “Magic!”

“Hush. I mean where do they…come…from? I can’t think of a better way to word it.”

“Depends on your religious outlook.” Carlos still looked smug.

“Never-fucking-mind.” Cecil grumbled. Just as he gave up, the rain began to pour down and Carlos went from cocky to panicked in less than a second.

“Cecil, the equipment!”

The papers were wet when they got them into the back of the truck, but not completely ruined. A couple hours in front of a fan would sort them out, Cecil figured. The rest of the equipment was thrown unscientifically into a pile in the kind-of-backseat that larger trucks tend to have.

Carlos turned up the radio just in time to hear about some sort of police chase involving a young man who believed himself a dragon on account of an altogether unholy amount of acid. The rain caused everything to go to shuffling static and Carlos eventually turned it down.

“We should go to Radon Canyon when we get all our readings here. I want to check out some stuff in that creek at the bottom of the canyon.”

Remembering the atrocious wording of Night Vale’s most recent ad campaign, Cecil laughed. “Sure! I hear the view is literally breathtaking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not anticipate researching animals to write fanfiction about a wacky gay science fiction bonanza. But I present to you, chapter 2! I should probably add slow burn to the tags. I'll do that.
> 
> Special thanks, as always, to Megan for liking the same stupid things as me. And Emily for fixing my stupid things. Also, to my best friend, Chandler, who - god help her - got into Night Vale partially to read this fic I'm so proud of.


	3. Turquoise-Taupe vs. The Void

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Remember the slogan: No flag? Goes in the bag. Red flag? Run." - Station Management

“He just grabs a razor and goes for it?” Cecil leapt up onto a Night Vale Stadium sign with childlike litheness.

Carlos laughed as he wrote down some figures from one of his many buzzing electronics. “Completely ignored my instructions. I think Telly has a vendetta against anyone with hair.”

Carlos’ new haircut was more fit for a soldier than for a rugged desert biologist. Telly, a local barber who would be run out of town with any luck, had cut the hair so short that the hair didn’t even curl luxuriously around Carlos’ ears.

“Can…can I feel it?” Cecil blurted. He stretched his hand out halfway but quickly retreated, unsure if this was an okay thing to ask a “city boy.” They had different rules here in Night Vale, after all.

“W-w-well,” he stuttered. “Sure, I suppose so.” He strode over to Cecil and bent his head before him. Cecil met him, feeling the short hair on the back of his scalp and running his hand down to Carlos’ greying temples.

“You feel like a cuddly porcupine. It’s very emasculating,” he teased, bopping the back of Carlos’ head. The scientist stood with a scowl.

“Thanks for that.” He moved back to his work in a comfortable, friendly silence for several minutes before looking up and staring at the sign between Cecil’s legs. “Why do you need another stadium?” He asked politely. “You can’t get people to show up to games at your normal stadium.”

“Seriously, Carlos?” Cecil replied. “Do you not listen to my radio show at all?”

“I’m asleep at that time.”

Cecil groaned loudly. “Carlooos, I’ve been making jokes for you for three weeks.”

Carlos’ eyes widened. “You have? I…I’m so sorry! I’ll listen to it tonight, I promise.” He cringed and tried to surreptitiously cover his face with a notebook.

Cecil kicked the sign with the back of his heels, deep in thought. He ran his fingers through his hair and tugged at the ends. “You should come to the studio tonight.” He offered a mischievous grin. “Could be dangerous. I may need help.”

\---------------------------------------------------------

Carlos sat in a seat behind Cecil, remaining deathly quiet, as instructed. He barely could contain himself, frequently breaking out into silent fits of laughter. He’d cover his mouth with his fist and bend over, attempting to even move and breath silently.

The Creeping Fear particularly tickled Carlos. He remembered Old Woman Josie in the convenience store by the car lot.

_“My Angels,” she cried. “This is so wonderful. I’ve been worried all week,” she went off on a rampage about her friends being worried about different things from finances to children with the common cold. “And I said to them…I’ll tell you what I said to this young lady. ‘Missy Jean, you don’t need to be worryin’ about your kids runnin’ ‘round at night like little scoundrels. This here is a safe town and I’ll tell you why.’ You want to know why, Black Angel?”_

_Carlos suppressed his own laughter and nodded, gripping the edge of the table to keep from exploding. “Why, Ms. Josie?”_

_“I got Angels.” Her eyes widened. “And one of them is black as smoke, which I reckon means you’re a real special angel.”_

_“I’m…” Cecil interrupted by throwing down a bag of Fritos next to him, shaking his head ardently. “Never mind.”_

Cecil’s skill at twisting stories into fantastical events baffled Carlos. How did a minor fire at the library turn into books not working? Or his boring contract negotiation with management turn into an experience? These things barely constituted stories. Night Vale had so few stories to tell that the newspaper had to make fewer issues because they ran out of interesting things to say after the headline of the front page. And Cecil somehow contorted even that into a story.

“Let’s have a look at traffic,” Cecil said decisively. He quickly turned and beckoned Carlos near him before twirling back around and talking aimlessly into the microphone as if he had any idea what the traffic currently was. As he spoke, he reached for a pen and began writing in the upper corner of his notes.

 _Play along?_ The note read. Carlos nodded enthusiastically, but felt deeply unsure of how well he could play along. He was, after all, a scientist, not a storyteller.

Carlos waited patiently as Cecil made a dramatic plea to the public to save him from the cruelty of station management (who, in reality, were not so much terrifying and cruel as almost completely absent aside from contract negotiations). His voice grew more frightened and Carlos found himself frustrated, trying to sort out when and how Cecil wanted him to play along.

Cecil answered the question for him, reaching out and grabbing his forearm before slamming it down on the desk. “Oh, um, I’m sorry, dear listeners. We’ll be back after this word from our sponsors.” Cecil fiddled with a few settings and turned around in a fit of laughter. “Okay, you can talk for a little less than a minute.”

Carlos shook his hand out and laughed with Cecil. “That was brilliant. Where did you even pick that up?”

“I used to be an actor, back in the glory days of college.” Cecil shrugged. “Or as glorified as I choose to make those days in my head.”

“And how did you end up here?”

Cecil gave Carlos a look that spoke louder than his words.

“Because you had a theater degree? Aren’t you supposed to end up a waiter in Los Angeles with that?” Carlos avoided touching on the depth of Cecil’s stare, hoping he was wrong about Cecil having lived through horrible things. Things like that don’t happen to real people in the real world. They’re for Lifetime movies and Chicken Soup for the Soul books.

Cecil held up a finger as the recording ended, swiveling back around to his microphone. “And now, sweet, sweet listeners…the weather.” He pushed a few more buttons and a pleasant folksy song came over the speakers. He spun back to a position where he could see Carlos. “More like half a theater degree and a case of rabid alcoholism.”

“Not much you can do with that,” Carlos agreed, half relieved to know the answer and half frightened for the same reason. “You seem to have made it well for yourself, though. Something to be proud of.”

Cecil smiled, more to himself than to his friend, and turned back around to hide his face. “I’m going to crawl beneath the desk with the microphone. Make noises like you’re sucking someone’s soul out of the atmosphere.”

“Why?”

“Just…for fun. Do it for fun,” he smirked. Cecil grabbed the microphone and slid beneath the desk, curling into an upright fetal position. Carlos followed him, tucking his knees up until they were even with the knobby ones of his friend.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” he muttered, panicking as the song was clearly coming to a close.

Cecil winked and flipped on the microphone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It's been a while. I returned to a place they call "skool." They continue their efforts to educate me and so far I comply for the sake of my safety. May not last much longer. Send reinforcements.
> 
> On the other hand, thank you so much to Chandler for proofreading this and catching several errors.


End file.
